Tick-tick-tick. The sound bugged the hell out of her.
He was always ticking at the keyboard, tapping keys as he entered codes, passwords, encryptions, pecking at them mindlessly as he surfed the informant net looking for an injustices to correct, to shed light on, a criminal to expose.
Max watched him from the doorway, fingering the small disc in the pocket of her leather jacket impatiently. Zack hadn't given her much time to make the copy.
Whatever it takes, he'd said.
As Logan kept picking at the keys, watching windows open on multiple monitors and jumping between them to compare information, Max eyed him warily. It was this time of night that he started to get really tired, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses, yawning a little more; it was the time of night the past and wine created a disgusting concoction in his mouth that made her want to gag when he breathed on her or kissed her; it was this time of night she needed him to be distracted. It'd be difficult, judging by the murderous glare he was giving the screen's occupants.
Sweeping her shoulder-length hair over one shoulder, Max changed the expression on her face. She steeled herself for the performance to come. Affecting what she'd learned long ago was a look called 'bedroom eyes,' she rubbed her cheeks and slunk into the room with the feline grace of the cat she was. After all, it was the biggest DNA donor (other than human) in her genetically-engineered body. "Hey," she greeted sultrily.
"Hey," he said without turning to see her, completed preoccupied by the screens before him.
Fuck, Max thought, sauntering all the way into the room until she stood behind him. She didn't want to do this tonight, but Zack had said, whatever it takes.
He no longer hid his screens from her like he used to when they'd first met. He trusted her now. So as she slid her warm palms down his chest, past his ill-toned pecs, he did not minimize his screens.
On them, she could see the atrocities attributed to her militaristic alma mater, Manticore. Land of the freaks, home of the slaves, her unit used to say. That ragtag group of soldiers had helped one another through all kinds of shit: tough assignments, rough training, reindoctrination. And here they were, plastered all over Logan's screens with hundreds of other nameless (to him, anyway) soldiers who'd fought day in and out to help keep this country safe.
He had no idea what his crusade really meant.
Mustering up the courage to do what she needed, Max took a deep breath and pushed the images of her unit mates into a corner in her mind. They went into a box in a drawer in a cabinet, locked and put in a dark corner of a vault. She let one arm dangle further forward, nearing Logan's belly button, as she grazed her plump lips at the side of his neck.
She noticed the change in him right away. He exhaled in a partial groan, his hand sliding up her arm. He pulled her arm down until her hand cupped his growing erection.
How the man could get hard after looking at grotesque photos was beyond her. She chocked it up to how right Manticore was about Logan's type and circled around to place herself between him and his PCs.
Logan reached for her hips and pulled her toward him. Climbing into his lap, Max worked off her jacket quickly and tossed it backward onto his monitors, rushing forward to start a deep, whimpering kiss.
He wasn't bad to look at, really. Light, sandy brown hair, lean facial features and blue eyes. He was alright. No X-Series, but acceptable for an Ordinary. Plus he was tall, which she generally liked in a guy.
Logan's soft-skinned hands crept under her shirt and up her back as he kissed her, his tongue slowly delving into her mouth. She was right – pasta and wine and several hours made for an acrid taste.
She started to wiggle in his lap, grinding a little closer to him, pushing her pelvis against his. He groaned and pushed the hooks of her bra from their clasps.
Just pretend he's a male model, she coached herself mentally. He's a gorgeous guy with rippling muscles ready to take you new heights. Backing off his lap, his hands gently slipping out of her shirt, Max pulled him by his hand until he raised up out of his chair. "Come on," she said in a whisper so quiet he almost didn't hear it.
Max led him to his bedroom, itself decked out in dark, rich colors and yellow-gold dimmed lights. He'd spared no expense in decorating the room. Hand carved armoire, dresser, bed frame, and nightstands were all stained a beautiful dark cherry, and the creams and crushed black of the velvet draperies hung past the windowsills and spilled onto the ground lazily. Everything about this room screamed 'excess.'
She dimmed the lights further and crossed her arms over her chest, reaching down to catch the hem of her shirt and peel it up. No sooner had she pulled the sleeves off and her hair through the neck hole than had he walked up behind her, pressing himself against her ass.
Okay, this is new, she thought as he flattened his palm at her abdomen and inched his way up her chest. He raised his other hand to move her hair way from her neck, baring her barcode to him.
He'd seen it before – it was nothing new to him. He knew what she was, how she'd been designed. He knew about her previous involvement with Manticore.
Max tried to roll with it, ready to raise both hands to pull her bra off by the straps, but he called out coldly, "Leave it."
Letting her hands fall to her sides, she reached back and cupped his thighs, helping to press him to her more, Zack's words echoing in her mind. Whatever it takes.
His fingers made quick work of the top button on her button-fly jeans, his hands slipping past the waist of them and into her panties.
Pretend, pretend, she chanted in her mind. He's a gorgeous guy who smells amazing, and you're gonna ride him raw if that's what it takes. She gritted her teeth as his fingers pressed into her, finding her clit and rubbing tiny little circles around it, over it.
She wished he had never discovered her. She wished she'd been assigned to marry a gorgeous fucking scientists like her twin had. She wished she had never excelled at espionage and received such high marks on her solos.
She imagined her last decent lay. X5-843, or Pete, as he'd chosen, now he was good looking. Dark, soft hair, beautiful skin, lean muscles, tall, smart. They fooled around in the library after hours and she'd bounced up and down on him for less than two minutes before she was stifling her orgasmic cries by biting his hand. They'd gone at it for over an hour.
She felt a rush of wetness between her legs.
Yes, good image. Keep that. Don't shout out 'Pete.'
But once Logan found her wetness, he yanked the sides of her jeans down to just above her thighs and held her naked rear end to him by the hip as he pushed at her back.
She bent down, losing her balance and falling to her hands and knees, her knees on the edge of the bed, wondering what would come next. This was new territory for them. They'd had sex before, but this had never been part of Logan's bland foreplay. It'd always been kissing and light petting until Max went for the condom. Not this time.
This time, she heard him get the condom out and felt him letting his pants drop to his ankles. She heard the package crumple and peeked over her shoulder to make sure he was putting it on. He was still standing, his erection sticking out toward her like a little pink sausage. He was average. Pete was longer. And thicker.
When he saw her face, he ground his teeth and rolled the latex on the rest of the way. The look in his eyes… it was haunting. It was as if he was after something else. She couldn't quite place it. Was he mad about something? What he'd seen of her Manticore comrades?
It was rough and quick when he entered her. She clamped her jaw shut, tight, as he bent over her back to slip a hand around to her right breast. He squeezed painfully as he pumped into her and she let out the moan she'd crafted specifically for this mission – one meant to urge Logan Cale to completion. It'd worked in the past, and it'd worked for this one.
She heard his grouse, "like that, huh?"
No, she didn't like this. She turned her head to glance at him, but it proved to be a bad move.
Logan's hand left her breast to hold her hip as his other hand moved to her neck, pushing her down so her face smashed into the bed. Hastily, roughly, he cleared the hair from the base of her neck.
Fucking Christ, she thought with a start. My fucking barcode.
"Come on, baby," he grunted. "Come for me."
Hey may as well have been talking to himself.
She hated this. The sex. The position. The talk. The look he had in his eyes was so possessive, like she was an object, like she was his object.
Pretend, she reminded herself. If she didn't start making noises soon, he'd keep talking and this little encounter would last for-goddamn-ever. Resigned, Max began the performance.
Moan lightly, like he's reaching a spot he'd never be able to reach without someone else's dick. Huff breathily a couple of times, and then kick up the moan an octave. More heavy breathing. Grab the sheets like he's rocking your fucking world. Use your muscles and scream his name. "Oh, Logan!"
It was exactly what he needed. His hand at her neck squeezed hard, painfully, as he came with an effeminate grunt, thrusting exactly four times.
For just a few seconds while he squeezed, Max thought of the eight most practical ways she could kill him from this position.
Logan pulled out and grabbed the waist of his pants before heading to the bathroom. When he shut the door behind him, Max finally moved from her position.
Flattening onto the bed, she laid there motionless, ruefully remembering the day she received this goddamn assignment.